A Knight's Persuasion (8 page)

Don’t be foolish, Juliana. You are friends with Landon. He will not harm you, especially when you have his daughter in your arms. If you care for Mayda and little Rosemary, you will find the strength to act for them
.

Shifting Rosemary closer to her shoulder, to shield her from the wind swirling down into the stairwell, Juliana pressed on.

“You say I tire you.” Mayda’s words shattered on an angry wail. “I never see you. Day and night, you are always gone. Do you think I am a fool, Landon? Do you believe I do not know of the servants’ gossip? Of the rumors you—”

“I told you before. Cease!”

“I will
not!
I am your
wife
.”

Weak moonlight, coming through the open doorway leading onto the wall walk, touched the stairs ahead. As though becoming aware of her mother’s nearness, Rosemary warbled.

“I warn you, Mayda. If you do not be quiet—”

The brutal fierceness of Landon’s voice . . . Mere steps away from the open door, Juliana hesitated. A frightened moan scratched her throat, but she forced the sound down. She thrust her finger against Rosemary’s mouth to soothe her hungry snuffles.

“You will not make a fool of me any longer!” Mayda shouted. “I want the truth—”

“Veronique excites me.”

A shuddered gasp. “S-she—?”

“—pleasures me. Whenever I wish. However I wish. Are you happy now,
wife?
”

Juliana squeezed her eyes shut.
Oh, Mayda. I am sorry
. To be rejected with such indifference must be heartbreaking.

Hoarse sobs broke from Mayda, each one swollen with helplessness and rage. The sounds pierced deep inside Juliana, for she’d cried that way after her mother had died. She’d wept until every last tear had dried up, and she’d been too exhausted to cry any longer.

“You
bastard
.” Mayda’s weeping roughened, while Juliana climbed the last stairs. “How could you betray my love? And to
her?
Did you not think—?”

A scraped footfall. A grisly
crack
: the sound of a fist hitting flesh.

Mayda groaned, a sound of excruciating pain.

Oh, God. Oh, God!

Rosemary struggled, her little legs kicking against the blanket, as Juliana forced herself through the doorway and onto the battlements.

Landon and Mayda were some distance down the wall walk, their figures limned in moon glow. The eerie light, cutting through patches of inky shadow, skimmed the squared stone merlons and the gaps between them that overlooked the moat, almost dry from months with little rain.

Glaring at Mayda, Landon flexed his right fingers, doubtless easing discomfort from the blow, then swept his palm over the front of the brown woolen tunic that reached to his thighs. The lazy gesture, executed with a faint measure of disgust, heightened the warning buzzing inside Juliana.

“Mayda,” she said. Fear muffled her voice; the wind snatched the sound.

Landon was dressed in garments fit for a cool spring night, while Mayda wore only her linen night rail, covered by a cloak she’d thrown about her shoulders but hadn’t fastened. Her unbound blond hair snarled in the breeze as she stood with her head bowed to the side, one hand pressed to her cheek, clearly still stunned by the blow. As Juliana hurried forward, her friend straightened. Her hands lowering to clench at her sides, Mayda faced her husband.

“How dare you hit me? Did you think that would silence me?” she screeched, before she winced and cradled her face again with her hand. “How I
hate
you!”

Juliana shivered as a gust whipped at her; yet her chill went beyond physical discomfort. Perilous emotions flowed between Landon and Mayda. Anger and bitterness seemed to cocoon them from all else, for they still hadn’t noticed her, or heard the babe’s fussing.

“Mayda,” Juliana called again, louder this time. If only she were nearer! Still, her friend didn’t hear her.

“Listen well, Landon.” Mayda trembled. “Our marriage is ended. I cannot wait to tell my parents, who
so
admired you, how you—”

Landon’s face contorted in a sneer. His arm whipped up, no doubt to strike again. Mayda threw up her hands—to hit back or plead with him—even as Juliana cried, “Mayda!”

Her friend’s head swiveled. When Mayda’s gaze fell upon Juliana and Rosemary, her teary eyes widened. Pain and terror etching her expression, Mayda opened her mouth, clearly about to speak.

Landon’s fist slammed into her head.

“Nay!” Juliana screamed. “Mayda!”

Eyes rolling, Mayda keeled sideways, then backward. Toward the gaping space between the merlons.

Juliana hurried forward, trying not to jostle Rosemary, heedless of the wind buffeting her and slowing her down. “Mayda,” she shrieked. “Beware!”

Mayda bumped against a merlon, then staggered. Her hands flew wide, a frantic attempt to regain her balance. “Juliana—” she groaned.

Landon lunged forward and shoved her. Hard.

Mayda’s hands flailed, grasping for a handhold. Seizing only air.

“
Mayda!
” Juliana shrieked.

With a shrill cry, her friend fell backward over the side. Her scream carried, and then . . . abrupt silence.

Several yards from Landon, Juliana stumbled to a standstill. Horror pounded inside her. Her whole body shook as she looked from Landon, his seething stare upon her, to the dark, vacant space where Mayda had disappeared.

Rosemary bawled.

The wind hissed, cold and . . . empty.

“Mayda,” Juliana whispered, pressing her arm across her churning stomach. “Oh, God!”

Over Rosemary’s cries, Juliana heard shouts somewhere down the wall walk. Castle folk were investigating the scream. At the same moment, Landon glanced over the battlement, as if to see what had become of his wife.

Could she have survived such a fall? Not likely. Not when the almost dry moat was strewn with rocks.

Mayda was dead. A demise she’d feared days ago.

Even as bile stung the back of Juliana’s mouth, another, more deadly thought snared her focus. She was the only one to have seen what happened. A witness to a lady’s murder.

Landon would no doubt convince any curious folk that what had taken place was an unfortunate accident. He was lord of Waddesford; his statement wouldn’t be questioned. Hers, however . . .

She took a shaky step back. He’d murdered once tonight. Would he kill her this evening, to silence her? Then would he do away with his daughter, whom he’d never wanted?

As he tugged down his sleeves and faced her, Juliana scrambled backward toward the doorway. She’d whirl around and run—

Movement on the wall walk snared her gaze. A slender figure emerged from the shadows close to Landon.
Veronique
. Raising her hands, she started clapping.

Merciful God!

As she strolled into the pale moonshine, light swept over her waist-length red tresses that brushed against her long black cloak. The vibrant, reddish hue, unnatural for a woman her age, looked even more eerie in the moonlight. Not only was Veronique applauding, but smiling as though she’d witnessed a superb performance.

“Well done, Landon.” Each of Veronique’s words sang with triumph.

“Well done?” Juliana choked out while forcing her shocked body to continue backward.
Get to the doorway
, her mind screamed.
Save yourself. Protect Rosemary, as you promised. Hurry!

“I killed my wife.” Landon sounded stunned. Did he not believe what he had done?

“You did what was necessary.” At his side, Veronique reached up a hand, turned his face so that he looked at her, and kissed him full on the lips. Pressing up against him, she said, “Now you are free. No one will separate us.”

Juliana swallowed. There could be but five steps left till she reached the doorway.

“Aye.” Landon exhaled a sharp breath. “But—”

Four
.

“You had no other choice,” Veronique murmured. “Do not worry. We will ensure her death is considered no more than an accident.” Veronique’s gaze fixed on Juliana. “Starting with her.”

Run!

Juliana spun and bolted into the stairwell.

Her bare feet skidded on the rough stones. Rosemary, bouncing in her arms, shrieked. Her cry echoed in the passageway, the sound mirroring the frantic scream rising inside Juliana.

“She cannot get away,” Veronique snapped from the wall walk.

“I know,” Landon said. “Guards!” he yelled. “Guards!”

Juliana heaved in a breath. She must get out of the castle.

How?

No time to retrieve Mayda’s hidden jewels. Juliana would have to—

Footfalls pounded on the stairs behind her.

She reached the torch lit passage. Holding tight to crying Rosemary, she raced toward the wooden landing that led down into the great hall. Most of the castle folk would be asleep there; she’d weave through the rows of straw pallets, dash into the forebuilding, and down to the bailey. From there . . .

Then what?

“Juliana!” Landon roared, close behind.

With an agonized gasp, she tried to run faster. Her lungs burned.

Shouts and tramped footfalls carried from behind her—and the landing ahead.

She was trapped.

A sharp tug on her hair yanked her head back. Pain spread through her scalp, while the passageway’s ceiling became a blur. She stumbled, almost dropping Rosemary.

“Got you,” Landon snarled.

She screamed with all the breath left in her lungs. Landon slammed her back against the passage wall. Rosemary jounced in her arms, even as Juliana twisted against his bruising grip on her upper arms.

“Let me go!” she choked.

Rosemary’s gulping cries rang off the stone. Landon didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Quiet.” Breathing hard, his grasp as tight as manacles, he glared down at Juliana. He smelled of drink, night air, and . . . danger. Juliana shuddered. Would he kill her now?

“Do as I say.” Landon clearly expected her obedience.

“Killer!” she cried. How she wanted to spit in his face! “Mayda loved you! How could you—?”

Armed men crowded in from the landing. Not Landon’s men-at-arms, most of whom she knew by name, but mercenaries. Veronique’s hired thugs.

Oh, God.
Oh, God!

“Lady de Greyne has gone mad,” Landon called, loudly enough for all to hear.

“Liar! You—”

“She means to harm the babe,” he cut in, drowning her voice with his own. “She—”

Juliana threw her body’s weight to one side. He tightened his grip. She kicked and struggled.

Behind her, metal rasped: the sound of a sword being drawn.

Terror whipped through Juliana, a moment before Veronique sauntered out of the stairwell to block that way out. Crossing her arms, she smiled.

“Someone help me!” Juliana sobbed. “Lady Ferchante was murdered. I saw! I swear—”

Landon pulled her away from the wall. “Take her.”

Two of the mercenaries grabbed her arms, restrained her, as Landon stepped away.

“Give me a sword,” Landon commanded.

She was going to die!
“Please, listen!” Juliana shrieked. “He—”

His lips drawn back from his teeth, Landon raised the blade. One swift slash, and she’d be dead. So, most likely, would Rosemary. Sobbing, Juliana cradled the baby tighter.

A curse broke from Landon. Daring to glance up, she saw him standing as though frozen, his sword ready for its killing strike.

For an instant, their gazes met. In his eyes, she saw remorse.

“Please,” she whispered. “Landon, I beg you—”

“Turn her around,” he growled. She tried to struggle, but the thugs spun her so her back faced Landon.

Whack!
Stunning pain crashed through the back of Juliana’s head. Her teeth cracked together, while her upper body jolted forward.
Do not . . . drop Rosemary
, Juliana told herself through the blinding agony.

Oh, God. So . . . dizzy.

She couldn’t stand up . . . any longer.

Juliana’s legs wobbled. The passageway floor swirled into a muddy blend of grays and browns.

Mayda, I am sorry. So sorry
.

The cloying tang of rosewater stung her nostrils.
Veronique
. Juliana tried to open her mouth, to speak, but her jaw refused to work. She could only groan as Veronique pulled Rosemary from her arms. “Kill her,” Veronique muttered, shoving the wailing baby at a mercenary.

Mayda, I am sorry . . .

Juliana collapsed to her knees. Head . . . spinning. Men . . . still holding her arms. She fought to lift her head.

Fight. Save Rosemary
, her mind screamed, even as the agonizing pain sapped the strength from her limbs.

Her groggy mind barely registered the masculine grunt behind her. The whistle of the sword through the air—

Whack!

Blackness.

***

Veronique stretched out atop the bed in the candlelit solar, propping her head up on her hand. As she tugged at her bodice to reveal more of her cleavage, her gaze settled upon Landon, standing before the hearth with his back to her.

The orange-yellow firelight licked over the front of his body and etched shadows over his legs braced slightly apart, broad arms hanging listless by his sides, face bowed to the flames. He’d stood that way for long moments, tense and silent, as though his mind was elsewhere.

Back on the wall-walk with his shrieking wife, no doubt.

Veronique stifled a sigh of disgust. Was he battling with his morals? Condemning himself for what he’d done? How she despised a man who couldn’t subjugate his own conscience.

She’d sensed the turmoil inside him when he’d aimed to run Juliana through with the sword. He couldn’t do it; his sense of chivalry had got in the way. Instead, he’d ordered her turned around—sparing himself from the condemnation in her eyes—and then had hit her twice at the back of the head, rendering her senseless.

“I will finish her off,” Veronique had said, taking a sword from one of her mercenaries. How sweetly the pleasure of killing had run in her veins, urging her to plunge the sword into Juliana’s pretty flesh.